It Can't Be Over Now
by KeepingUpDisappearances
Summary: Alternate ending to GONE WITH THE WIND, picks up right after Melanie's death. Scarlett knew she and Rhett were meant to be together all along-but after so many years of denial and all of her scandalous behavior, it would seem impossible that there could be anything between them but regret and perhaps even distrust. Scarlett, however, was never one to give up.


NOTE: The narrative is all my own, however, the dialog is directly from the book until the 'bolded' quote. Beginning with and after that all the dialog is my own.

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"Well, God rest her," Rhett Butler said heavily. "She was the only completely kind person I ever knew."

Depressed from losing Melanie and exhausted from her flight from an invisible enemy, Scarlett looked at her husband through new eyes. She had learned so much tonight.

It had come as a startling revelation when she and Ashley realized they'd never really had had feelings for each other—just a desire for that fleeting ideal of the glory of the Old South. After all the years of longing for Ashley, of wanting him—no, _thinking_ she wanted him—of imagining that her place was with Ashley, Scarlett had realized that it was a girlhood fantasy gone on far too long.

And Melanie. Melanie! Why had it taken the merciless touch of Death to show her how important Melanie was to her? Ever since that day Melanie had shown her loyalty to 'their people', to Tara, to that mythical Cause, to the days that had been, there had at last been a true connection between them. She could still see the fire in Melanie's eyes as she had come to confront that Yankee scum, Charles's sword in hand, prepared to kill if she must.

"Oh, Rhett!" Scarlett's words tore from her throat. "Why didn't you come in with me? It was dreadful—and I needed you so."

"I couldn't have borne it," Rhett said, staring at the empty glass on the table. Not even hard liquor could take him away from this pain. "A very great lady."

Rhett looked as if he was replaying the past six years in his mind, from that carefree, innocent, almost phantasmal barbeque at Twelve Oaks, until now, mourning the death of one of the most warm-hearted, kind ladies ever seen in the North or the South.

"So she's dead. That makes it nice for you, doesn't it?" Rhett's question was unexpected.

The implication in his words and his tone was clear, and Scarlett felt an odd mixture of sadness, disgust, and guilt. The ready tears blurred her vision, and for once she wasn't crying out of pity for herself. Scarlett exclaimed:

"Oh, how can you say such things? You know how I loved her!"

"No, I can't say I did," Rhett said dully. "Most unexpected and it's to your credit, considering your passion for white trash, that you could appreciate

her at last."

"How can you talk so?" Scarlett cried. "Of course I appreciated her! You didn't. You didn't know her like I did! It isn't in you to understand her-how good she was-"

"Indeed? Perhaps not."

"She thought of everybody except herself," Scarlett said distantly, wishing she could get the image of Melanie's dying eyes from her mind. "Why, her last words were about you.

Rhett looked cautious, yet curious, and his voice was queer when he spoke.

"What did she say?"

"Oh, not now, Rhett," Scarlett pleaded.

"Tell me." Rhett's tone was unrelenting.

"She said—," Scarlett began, and winced when he husband's hand tightened cruelly around her wrist. "She said, 'Be kind to Captain Butler. He loves you so much.'"

The blood came back to Scarlett's wrist as he dropped it; without a word he strode to the window and looked into the misty dark night.

"Did she say anything else?"

"She asked me to take care of little Beau and I said I would, like he was my own boy. And…she asked me to look after Ashley, too."

Rhett laughed bitterly. **"How convenient! Mrs. Wilkes had given you consent!"**

"Consent?"

"You can have your Ashley and his dreams and ideals, guilt free now, in _your _mind," Rhett said.

"No! Oh, no, Rhett! It's you I love," Scarlett pleaded, her heart racing.

"Ah, I've seen your pitiful pleadings before," Rhett said coolly. "I have!

Now, go to bed. You need to sleep."

"Please, hear me!" Scarlett begged.

Rhett came back to her and trailed his fingers down her cheek, but there was no affection in this gesture. In his eyes and in his set mouth there was a look of grief mixed with disappointment, and a strong hint of contempt.

"I don't want to hear you. I know what has happened; you only now realized that you wanted Ashley only because you couldn't have him, and because he believed along with you an ideal that never existed. To the glorious South! And I'm—_I'm_ the only one left over, Scarlett. I'm the only one you can come back to."

Katie Scarlett, who'd tended to sick, wounded, dying soldiers, who'd worked her hands raw for Tara, had killed Yankee filth, had bought and run her own business despite town gossip, suddenly felt lost. Alone. Helpless.

"Rhett, Rhett, I _love_ you," she said, trying to sound tender and loving and humble—a difficult thing after years of war, of raw hardship, of personal scandal and gossip. The gentility that Ellen had instilled in her was far gone.

"Ah, the tears again," Rhett observed. "No, Scarlett, I don't believe you_ do_ love me, not in the way that you should. I'm all you have left, no?"

Scarlett was suddenly too tired for tears, for pleading. Desperately she tried to explain herself. She did love him, she swore. Her love had been there all along, but it had been clouded by her girlish view of Ashley. Couldn't Rhett see that, please, darling?

"You do the 'grief act' very badly, Mrs. Butler," Rhett said, baiting her, his voice aggravatingly calm.

So that was it. He didn't believe her! Ah, Scarlett only had herself to blame; she knew that, but hid it beneath forced indignation. Oh, if go back all those years and listen to her father! _He'd_ had sense; he had seen right through Scarlett's misguided keenness for Ashley Wilkes. A feeling of dark misery, of confusion, of longing, of sheer sadness washed over her, and a tremor shook her body. Everything was over now. Scarlett lifted her eyes to Rhett's again.

"Damn you, Rhett Butler," she said shamelessly, her eyes blazing. "Damn you for telling me who I love or don't love! To Hell with you, yes, Hell!"

Some of that old vivaciousness came back to her. Scarlett picked up a china candelabra from the table and flung it against the wall. The shattering sound was loud in her ears, but Scarlett had regained her spirit.

Suddenly, Rhett's arms were around her, and he sought her lips with his own. His kiss startled Scarlett. That he was holding her, kissing her, at all after what had transpired was surprising enough, but the tenderness and warmth of the touch of his lips on hers made her draw a sharp breath.

"Why—Rhett—I didn't think you cared," Scarlett gasped.

"I do now," Rhett said earnestly. "You're breaking things and cursing me; there are none of those silly tears that are so not part of your nature. You're still yourself, now; not a lady, but enough of a woman for me. We're both cads in the eyes of the world, and cads belong together."

"Melanie was right, then," Scarlett said. Her voice caught as she spoke her friend's name.

"Yes, she was right, that dear woman," Rhett said, an unaccustomed gentleness in his voice.

"She was truly a lady," Scarlett said frankly. "And I'm not, and couldn't be if I tried. I'm just—"

"Just a scoundrel, to the people of Atlanta," Rhett playfully taunted. "But scoundrels can be surprisingly lovable."

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I hope you enjoyed my little vignette. I was so left hanging with the ending of the book.


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